


Us Ones in Between

by comeswithaprice



Series: Of Us Ones in Between [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableist Language, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeswithaprice/pseuds/comeswithaprice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes the pain. There’s no point in denying it. The needle touches his skin and he likes the way it feels, the scratch and burn of it - he even likes the humming noise of the Stigma Rotary. Six hours later, Trespasser is staring at him from his left thigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us Ones in Between

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened for two reasons. One, I’m pretty sure Newt single-handedly saw BadDragon through the economic crisis caused by the war; two, the lack of tattoo fic was baffling. I literally just wanted to write about kaiju dildos and then this happened. Needless to say I have regrets. 
> 
> I actually started writing this before finishing the novel so, even though I did my best matching the tattoos to the various Kaiju, there's some minor inconsistencies. [This](http://31.media.tumblr.com/7a4584fa29a8b93b9cb30cf625475971/tumblr_mqm7k1PqRH1qznxlxo1_500.jpg) is the result of my researches/inspiration. I also made up a tattoo because I like living on the edge. 
> 
> Warning for ableist language (it's only one mention but better safe than sorry) and racist giant robot. Also this is more of a character study than anything, so you also have two OCs. But Hermann/Newton is - obviously - endgame.
> 
> Thanks to [Kale](http://mahihkun.tumblr.com) for being her usual butt self and [Jade](http://motherfuckingwerewolves.tumblr.com) for being a fucking annoying co-pilot and beta. One day we’ll helicopter off into the sunset on the wings of questionably shaped dildos. 
> 
> The working title for this fic has been “ _what the fuck are you even writing_ ” since day one. It’s been three days and I still have no idea.

He doesn’t like boring people. Well, to be fair he doesn’t like people _in general_ , so there’s also that. 

But boring people have well-planned careers, and mortgages, steady jobs and Sunday barbecues. They hang out with other boring people every Christmas and they always pay their bills on time. They go to bed every night at ten, wake up at six, go to work, come back home. Boring people have heavy and unchanging routines, they’re content in their belief that life is nothing more than work-sleep-rinse-and-repeat, as if they were robots, as if there was nothing more to life than the little bubble they’re living inside. 

Boring people. People like his parents. 

He’s twelve years old when he catches them arguing about bills, bills, bills, and where do you go when you leave at night? you should be home by six, and this is none of your business, and I’m always home tending to your needs, I deserve to be treated with respect. 

He doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, all he knows is he doesn’t want to be like that. He wants to be a rockstar when he grows up, so he starts spending time with his uncle, who’s heavily into the techno scene, like every good Berliner. 

Gunter teaches him the basis of electronics, he teaches him about music and the books that will open your mind, and the way the world is. Newt spends his days reading Darwin, Sagan, obsessively rereading his copy of _The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks_ , scribbling annotations on the margins of the book and writing pages and pages of his own - about evolution, about biology, about what would happen if you mixed biology and technology, he writes theories about cloning, and immortality, and genetics. 

He reads about evolution and Mendel, learns all he can about eugenics, because it’s at the same time a terrifying and fascinating concept. He reads Clamp, and _Fullmetal Alchemist_ , and _Death Note_ , and _Ghost in the Shell_ \- he reads sometimes about robots, sometimes about monsters, and sometimes about robots fighting monsters, and magic and science coming together to create entire new dimensions. He always keeps his mind wide open, learning about things that are so far from his reality but so vivid in his mind he feels like he could reach out and touch them. 

He watches _Rodan_ , and _Godzilla_ , and _Daikyojū Gappa_ , and every single Kaiju movie he can put his hands on. Sometimes he thinks he lives for those apocalyptic movie realities where humanity fancies itself larger than life, unreachable and undefeatable until it finds out there’s something bigger out there, lurking, waiting to crush men and eat them whole. 

Newt moves to Massachusetts, US. He sees more people, learns more things. Sees things that make him want to know everything about anything, and he learns that not all people are boring. 

He’s twenty and has just started teaching MIT when he meets her. Callie has a degree in Nuclear Science and Engineering, and they chain-smoke cigarettes and talk about biomechanics and Rilke, and the curve of her body fits his perfectly. Suddenly he’s twenty-three, and somehow she’s the only person that’s making Newt’s life look like it’s worth living. 

They’re in bed one night, spooning, and he realizes he’s in a stable relationship with a woman he loves, they’re living together, he has a fulltime job as academic, and their credit score is virtually perfect. He’s stopped thinking in terms of ‘ _I_ ’s and always thinks in ‘ _we_ ’s, and he finds it strangely comforting. He’s become his parents, he realizes. 

He runs to the bathroom and throws up in the toilet until he can’t taste fear anymore, only bile. 

He doesn’t leave her - he couldn’t if he tried - but he stops buying her flowers and using a green felt-tip pen to doodle fantasy creatures on the smooth expanse of her back, and they don’t discuss politics anymore. They don’t discuss at all. He’s always busy, too busy to talk, too busy to even _look_ at her. _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say. _I’m sorry I’m boring. This is my fault._  

They drift apart. 

One night he goes to bed with her, the next morning she’s gone. There’s a postcard of the Golden Gate bridge taped to the bathroom mirror, and he just knows. He doesn’t blame her, never, not even once, but he doesn’t look for her either. 

Sometimes people meet each other, fall in love, and then the love goes away. That’s okay, too - or at least that’s what he tells himself to try and make it better. It doesn’t work. 

He doesn’t want to teach anymore. He doesn’t care anymore. He’s sick of how he’s wasted half his life already, because he was supposed to be a rockstar and instead he’s nothing. Looks at himself in the mirror and really sees himself for the boring man he’s grown into. Boring, boring, _boring_. He’s too plain, from his boring brown hair down to the texture and colour of his skin. 

He thinks about Gunter and what he would have to say about Newt’s life. _Hang the blessed DJ_ , he thinks. _The music they’re constantly playing says literally nothing to me about anything ever_. There’s a hollow space where his motivation should be. _Get up and do something_ , he tells himself. He lays still, and rewatches _Godzilla_ for the umpteenth time. 

* 

K-Day happens on a Sunday. 

He’s sprawled on his couch, eating peanut butter straight from the jar and watching _Mothra_ on DVD. His TA insistently calls him twenty times before Newt decides to pick up the phone - and only to grunt ‘fuck off’ into it. Or at least he tries to. _There is something_ , Sendhil says. _Something in San Francisco, a monster. It came out of the fucking ocean_ , he says.   

Newt turns off the DVD and there it is, emergency broadcasting live on national television, and Newt’s world tilts on its axis. 

He willingly gets up from the couch for the first time in a month. 

* 

He likes the pain. There’s no point in denying it. The needle touches his skin and he likes the way it feels, the scratch and burn of it - he even likes the humming noise of the Stigma Rotary. Six hours later, Trespasser is staring at him from his left thigh. 

Newt’s not big on social cues but he can almost taste the tattoo artist’s disgust the whole time, even though the man doesn’t say anything, just keeps inking him. After all, he’s been paid good money for this - a tattoo of an alien monster who destroyed San Francisco and took the world six days to kill. 

He loves the tattoo, but he also spent the entire sitting thinking the guy was going to stab him in the eye with the needle. 

After Scissure attacks, wings extending as the Kaiju flexes his limbs, and jaw so powerful it crunches and snaps entire chunks of Sydney in half, Newt decides that for this one he’ll find a better tattoo artist. 

* 

He meets Jasper on a Wednesday morning, while he’s out getting his fix of coffee before heading to work. 

Jasper has a sleeve tattoo of Trespasser, and Newt can’t stop looking at it. The ink is beautiful, the colors vibrant and warm, and he wants to touch it. He lifts his eyes and notices the guy is looking at him. They stare at each other for a moment, and then the other shoots him a meaningful glance before turning on his heels and entering the public restroom. 

Newt follows. 

They fuck in the Starbucks toilet, Newton pressed against the door and Jasper pulling his hair like he’s actively trying to scalp him. Jasper bites into the side of his neck and uses his tattooed arm to scratch Newt’s tattooed thigh, and there’s a sort of symmetrical poetry in the gesture that makes Newt’s knees go weak, so he lays his hand flat on the tiled walls of the stall, and widens his legs as much as the jeans pooled at his ankles will let him.

“Harder,” he rasps. Jasper all but slaps a hand on Newt’s mouth, tilting his head back and jacking him off hard and fast until it almost hurts. 

“Come, you little cunt.” 

Newt does. 

* 

Jasper buys him a double shot espresso and sketches out Scissure on the back of a napkin, asking him _Is this okay?_ and _What do you want to add?_ and Newt is so immersed in the conversation ( _Can you do a background of waves? On my thigh, too?_ ) that he accidentally skips a lecture. The Dean of Faculty is not happy, says his performance has deteriorated, and that seeing such a brilliant man lose interest in his job is a painful sight. 

Newt wants to tell him that he’s not lost interest in his job, he _loves_ his job ---- he’s just redirected his interest on something else. Kaiju are the most immense and complex living entities to ever walk the earth, and he wants to know everything about them. He wishes he could put his hands on a specimen and study it, tear the theories apart and piece the facts back together. 

He likes Kaiju in the same way one would like a stray cat. It may scratch and bite, and you may hate it for it, but you won’t be able to deny its sheer power and wild beauty. Kaiju make him feel a little less pointless, a little more like himself. 

Scissure looks gorgeous, tattooed on his right arm. Jasper looks at him and smiles knowingly. 

* 

The first time he sees a Jaeger fight a Kaiju he’s home, grading papers, and Jasper texts him ‘ _tv now kaiju_ ’. He stares at the live footage, amazed. Brawler Yukon VS Karloff. The Kaiju charges the Jaeger and Newt has to sit down because there are spots in front of his eyes, because this is _too much_ like everything he grew up with. Like everything he grew up loving. 

This is his future, and his past, and his present, and all he’s ever wanted to see. This is what he was built for. That’s the stuff rockstars are made of. 

 _i should enlist in ppdc_ , he texts Jasper. 

 _lol k_ , comes the reply. 

Newt snorts goes back to his papers. _Fucking asshole_ , he thinks. 

* 

Onibaba attacks in 2016, and wreaks havoc on Tokyo. She kills millions, until Coyote Tango brings her down. They never actually say what happened, but people talk (that’s all they ever do, really) and two months later Japan retires the Jaeger. 

One day Jasper e-mails him a sketch of Onibaba, asking if Newt likes it, and if he wants a full sleeve. Newt bites his lip, admiring the clean lines and the imposing features of the Kaiju, and e-mails back, ‘other arm’. 

Four months after that, he’s contacted by a member of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps. _Doctor Geiszler_ , he says, _Have you ever considered joining the PPDC?_  

Newt enlists the following week. 

* 

Dr. Gottlieb is a concentrate of stern German primness and sarcasm, a bundle of OCD and vitriol. 

His mouth spits poison and cuts Newt deep, right where it hurts him. He calls him ‘ _Kaiju groupie_ ’, stares at his tattoos and shakes his head, twists his mouth into a grimace at the sole mention of how Kaiju anatomy is essentially brilliant and how Newton wishes he could have a fresh specimen for once, _I mean, how hard can it possibly be to harvest fresh Kaiju samples? We’re the fucking PPDC for crying out loud!_  

Gottlieb always makes this anguished noise like Newt embodies all that’s wrong with the world, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Needless to say, Newt likes Gottlieb a lot. 

When Reckoner falls in the middle of Hong Kong, and its carcass starts contaminating the ground, Gottlieb asks him if he still likes Kaiju that much. 

Newt doesn’t answer, because he’s not sure the other would like to hear what he has to say. 

* 

Yamarashi is the largest Cat-III so far. He lands on the Long Beach Waterfront and destroys the RMS Queen Mary, makes his way through the city and smashes through Queenway Bridge, stomping across Terminal Island. PPDC deploys two Jaeger, and the missile barrage from the first one barely harms the Kaiju. Gipsy Danger brings him down, beheading it with a cargo crane wire. 

He watches the assault with Gottlieb, and when it’s done he can’t hold back a ‘ _fucking awesome, that was fucking awesome_ ’. Gottlieb looks at him intently. 

“You’re gonna get another tattoo, aren’t you.” 

Newt texts Jasper that same night. 

* 

They shouldn’t work, Gottlieb and he --- and in fact they don’t. 

Until they do. 

* 

There’s Puerto Rico, and San Diego, and Manila again, and every time he forces Gottlieb to watch the broadcasts with him, and every time Gottlieb makes a point of vocally expressing just how insufferable Doctor Geiszler is being. 

But he always stays. 

He’s asleep when Knifehead emerges from the breach. It’s Gottlieb who wakes him up, making his phone ring insistently. Newt is reminded of Trespasser, and how much his life has changed since that day. Gipsy Danger brings the Kaiju down, but it’s a pyrrhic victory. 

Gottlieb texts him, _Where?_  

Sometimes he wonders what’s wrong with him, if he should be worried about himself. 

 _right forearm_ , he texts back. 

It takes Jasper seven hours and a half to finish his left sleeve. When he gets back to the Shatterdome, Gottlieb looks at the tattoo for half a second and doesn’t say anything. 

* 

Two months after Knifehead, the United Nations sunset the Jaeger Program. 

Pentecost talks about Coastal Barriers, evacuation and resettlement programs and undersea barriers. 

“This is bullshit,” Newt says. Gottlieb shakes his head and puts all the weight on his good leg. He does that sometimes when he’s upset. Involuntary reaction. Newt might not be good at reading people, but he can read Gottlieb. 

Pentecost says that’s how it is now. The UN will keep funding them until the Anti-Kaiju wall is completed, and then it will be the end. Gottlieb is still standing on his left leg when Pentecost leaves the lab, telling them to return to their duties. _We’re still at war_ , he says. 

“This is bullshit,” he repeats. 

“Yes. Yes, Newton, it is.” 

There’s a whole new level of stiffness to his limp when he walks away from their lab. 

It’s the first time he’s called him Newton. 

* 

He doesn’t really know what prompts it, but that night Newton goes out and finds a man that looks a bit like Gottlieb. 

He’s too short, and his eyes are the wrong colour, and his fingers are not graceful enough, but Newt lets the man tie him to his bed with ropes, lets him blindfold him and gag him, lets him fuck into Newton with one of his Kaiju dildos, the Yamarashi one. 

The man comes all over Newt’s bare chest, the hand not busy pushing and twisting the toy in and out of Newton dragging through the come, spreading it all over the soft skin of his abdomen. 

Newt thinks about the silicon dick twisting inside him, pretends those are Gottlieb’s fingers, bites hard around the ball gag and comes. 

The next day, when he goes back to the lab, limping slightly and still wearing last night’s clothes, Gottlieb is there, tapping away on a tablet. His fingers still for just a second, hover over the touch screen while he gives Newton this calculated look and it’s like he _knows_.  

Newton stays on his side of the lab and barely says a word all day. 

* 

Funds start dwindling. General morale swiftly follows. Ninety percent of K-Science division quits and leaves before it’s too late to get benefits. 

Newt stays. 

Hermann stays, too, which is a small miracle in itself. 

* 

“You’re insane. Certifiably so.” 

Newt twists his fingers in his hair. This is the second time they’ve had the same conversation in the span of two hours. This is also why they don’t discuss work unless they want to start popping antacids like Skittles, and also why Hermann files an average of three ‘ _Doctor Geiszler is a tragedy_ ’ complaints per week. 

“I _know_ I am,” he bites back, “But this is not about my mental health, this is about _science_ , Hermann.” 

“They barely give me funds to perfect the frequency models, and you think they’ll give _you_ funds to create a Pons to drift with a _Kaiju_?” he spits out the words like keeping them inside his mouth is going to hurt him. 

“Well, your research is shit anyway, so who cares?” 

Hermann’s about to reply when the alarms go off. They stare at each other for about a second before running out of the lab to reach the mess hall - or rather, Newt actively runs for about four meters before remembering Hermann can’t do the same. 

He stops and waits for Hermann, and when the other notices, he waves a hand in the air, “Go, go. Wouldn’t want to miss all the fun, would we.” 

Newt snorts bitterly, “Come on, asshole, hurry up.” 

He waits for Hermann, and they walk to the mess hall together. 

* 

Ceramander looks beautiful against the orange and purple Hawaiian sunset, waves crashing against him as he rises from the ocean and roars, and Newt has to clear his throat and look away from a second. 

Hermann snorts, murmuring “You would” under his breath. Newt very pointedly ignores him. 

They stand together and watch Striker Eureka kill the Kaiju, and everyone in the mess hall cheers and claps. Newt wishes he didn’t feel so sad. 

* 

He always does his best, but if they were skating on thin ice before, now they’ve just plunged into the icy depths of the ocean, and there’s an army of Kaiju waiting for them. Newt feels the Titanic’s struggle on a spiritual level. He needs to upgrade his equipment, he needs fresh Kaiju specimens, he needs _more_ , he needs _everything_. He was promised the world and all he has are scraps. 

“This is no way to fight a war,” he tells Pentecost. 

The man looks at him and nods, “I know, Newton.” 

 _I was supposed to be a rockstar_ , he thinks as his interns start leaving the Program. _Fuck you, I don’t need any of you pieces of shit. I can do this alone_. 

He throws his laptop on the ground and kicks it for good measure. _I don’t need anyone_. He looks at his shaky hands and wills himself back to relative calm. _I don’t need anyone_. 

One evening, eight months after that and four hours after the last of his interns has left the Shatterdome, Tendo tells him they’re redirecting what’s left of K-Science funding to perfecting LOCCENT technology, and Newt blacks out for a moment. This is a crock of shit. They need K-Science to be at the top of their game if they want to win the war - fundings are already less than half of what they should be, and now they add insult to injury by redirecting what little they have left to perfecting a bunch of _computers_? 

Tendo toys with the wedding band around his finger, and stares into his cup of coffee. “I’m not sure we can win this,” he says. 

“Don’t fucking say that,” Newt snaps. “Don’t you _ever_ fucking say that.” 

They can win this, if nothing else because they _have_ to. 

* 

Hermann stays. 

They never talk about the subpar quality of their lives, but then again they don’t _have_ to, and Hermann never leaves, so there’s that. 

* 

When Spinejackal attacks Melbourne, he’s bent over one of Jasper’s armchairs, and the man is fucking into him. 

“Harder,” he moans as Jasper pushes his face down into the soft velvet of the armrest and increases the strength of his thrusts. Newt listens to the noise of skin slapping against skin, and closes his eyes. He can hear his phone ringing, but he really doesn’t care. 

When he gets out of the shower and finally decides to check his phone, he has 2 missed calls and one text. 

 _Spinejackal - Cat-III - Melbourne - StrEur_  

He types out ‘ _i’m sorry_ ’ and almosts hits send before catching himself. 

When he gets back to the lab, Hermann’s not there. 

* 

He makes sure to be there when Tentalus attacks the China Sea.

Crimson Typhoon is magnificent in its Thundercloud formation, mechanical claws slicing the Kaiju open. Hermann is sitting right next to him, leg propped up on a stool, and this is the most fun Newt’s had in _months_ , which is both pathetic and disturbing at the same time. 

“So? Where?” Hermann says, eyebrow raised. 

Newt points at his neck and doesn’t miss the way Hermann’s eyes look at him, the way he licks his lips. Newt pushes his luck, trailing uncertain fingers across the tendons of his neck, gently stroking his adam’s apple, and Hermann hurriedly averts his gaze before getting up and returning to his chalkboard. 

Jasper texts him, _have an idea abt chestpiece._  

 _only if tentalus is involved_ , he replies. 

* 

It takes Jasper a week to finish everything, and only because Newt forces him to work in 6 hours sessions every day. By the end of it, his skin is raw and he has to work from inside his quarters because he’s physically unable to wear a shirt. Or move without hissing in pain, but that’s beside the point. 

Hermann never asks him to see. Newt never shows him. 

* 

Mutavore attacks in 2025, when they’ve got nothing left, all their hopes and dreams flushed down the toilet because of politicians who don’t know shit, and the Kaiju breaks through the Anti-Kaiju wall like it’s half-melted butter. 

 _No fucking shit_ , he thinks. That idea was bullshit since the very beginning. Walls never work. He’s a Berliner, he would know. 

PPDC gradually decommissions all Shatterdomes but one, and Pentecost tells them they’re relocating to Hong Kong. Newt prepares a comprehensive dossier about his theory, and hopes Pentecost will listen to him instead of Hermann. 

They argue over the legitimacy of Newt’s work all the way from Australia to China. 

* 

When it actually comes down to it, Hermann is not at all what Newt expected. 

They drift together, like Jaeger pilots, and they _really_ see each other for the first time. It doesn’t even occur to Newton that maybe letting someone inside his mind is a thing that should be planned or at least given some thought. This is Hermann, who has developed an _author-subject-date of publication_ system to organize his books and his life. They’ve lived inside each other’s pockets for years, he’s already seen the worst parts of Newt anyway. Slipping inside each other’s minds seems like the natural culmination of their relationship. 

On a purely theoretical level, he understands what pilots mean when they describe the need  for post-drift physical contact as being ‘overwhelming,’ he understands the concept of ‘ghost drifting,’ but actually experiencing it is an entirely different thing.   

He knows Hermann is not exactly a tactile person (just as he’s not very prone to socializing), but on the flight back to the Shatterdome they sit close together anyway, legs touching and something not very different from electricity flowing through their bodies, fluidly going from him to Hermann and back, in a constant stream of warmth and residual empathy. 

Newt wishes he could touch Hermann, but no matter what he thinks, what he knows, and what he _thinks_ he knows, their relationship up to that point has been hazmat tape and _do-not-cross_ signs, and he’s not sure he should be crossing them now, in a chopper of all places, while PPDC is about to write the epilogue of the war. 

He’s lost in his thoughts when Hermann’s hand finds the inseam of Newt’s pants, fingers warm against the denim-clad skin of Newt’s thigh, and he stops thinking altogether. He reaches out and cups Hermann’s elbow, unwilling to stop touching. 

He thinks he’d like to drift again, with or without kaiju. He was so full, and now it feels like he’s not enough anymore, like he’ll never be enough anymore, and he’s just desperate to be closer. 

Hermann leans closer and gently kisses the shell of his ear. 

* 

In an unsurprising turn of events, the intel they’ve gathered saves the world. 

Marshal Hansen orders to stop the clock, and everyone cheers. Hermann shuffles closer, and Newt hooks an arm around his neck. 

He’d always known he was destined to be a rockstar. 

* 

“I really don’t like sweet and caring, okay,” he says while he unzips his pants and pushes them down his legs. 

Hermann makes a noncommittal sound and rests his cane against the desk before unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You don’t have to be gentle. At all. In fact, don’t be.” he strips out of his shirt, and stands there in all his naked glory, waiting for the other to take in the whole picture. It occurs to him that Hermann’s never seen him like this, used up canvas with the story of his life etched into his skin in technicolor. 

Hermann looks at him, crooking his finger to beckon him closer. Newton goes, because he can be a good boy, he can follow orders when it suits him, and he’s about to remark on the fact he also doesn’t do cuddling either, when Hermann’s hand touches his abdomen, skirting up along the imposing frame of Ceramander and up still, until the hand closes around his throat and Tentalus. 

His touch is careful and controlled but firm at the same time, just as Newt imagined. Just as he _likes_ it.

Hermann looks slightly embarrassed as he says “I’m going to fuck you now, and you’ll be quiet.” 

Newt bites his lip, heart rate picking up. 

“Are you okay with that?” 

He nods, and Hermann smiles, a little tight but sweet all the same, leaning in to kiss the corner of Newt’s mouth. 

“My illustrated man.” 

His heart does a weird thing, like it’s trying to burst out of his chest, and Hermann looks at him intently, like he’s trying to read his mind, and maybe he can, because he trails the tips of his fingers along Newt’s collarbone, stops and rests the hand on his chest, right where his heart is. 

That’s when Newt knows he’s completely, utterly, physically and metaphorically fucked. 

* 

It’s been almost two months since the end of K-War and, against all odds, they’re still themselves. They still work in their lab, each on his side, writing reports and tying up loose ends. They still go out with Tendo, and they learn to like Marshal Hansen, too. 

Hermann still calls him _kaiju groupie_ , but the insult has lost its bite. At this point it’s more like a token remark, almost a term of endearment. 

Kaiju Defense and Security is reassigning PPDC personnel, deploying soldiers along the various Pacific Rim LOCCENTs. Hercules tells them that he’s been given permission to keep the Jaeger Program alive - a resized version of it, sure, and they’d have to move back to Sydney once they’re done wrapping up things in Hong Kong, but it’s the Jaeger Program nonetheless. Jaeger technology and K-Science breakthroughs could be adapted to improve and enhance military, medical and engineering fields. 

They ask Newt whether he wants to go back to teaching at MIT or stay in the PPDC and help the world rebuild itself. 

He’s a rockstar, so he stays. 

Hermann stays too. 

He realizes that as some point he’s started thinking in ‘ _we_ ’s again and can’t quite muster up enough strength to care. 

The word ‘boring’ never crosses his mind, not even once. 

* 

He remembers Hermann finding his toys. 

He remembers acting brash and hating himself at the same time, telling himself this shouldn’t change anything but hoping nonetheless, ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ on the tip of his tongue - but sorry for _what_ , exactly? This is who he is, Hermann knows him, he’s _seen_ him, this shouldn’t change anything, _please, don’t let this change anything._  

“Well, you _do_ know I’m a kaiju groupie,” he’d told Hermann, trying to make a joke. 

The other had just stared at him, gaze moving from Newt to his toys, flashy colours and markedly alien forms, long and flared silicon shapes with textured suction cups and spade-tip heads, engorged ribbed shafts in a very distinctive shade of blue and Newt is annoyed, feels like this should be nothing, and _why is Hermann not saying anything?_  

“Will you fucking say something?” he had snapped. 

“Can I--- can I fuck you with this,” had come the shaky reply. Newt had stared at the toy in Hermann’s hand and moaned, moving in to crash their mouths together. 

* 

It’s a little after six months into whatever they’re doing, three months after Hermann first finds his toys, when he gets back to his quarters and finds Hermann sitting on the couch, a wooden box in his hands. He looks at Newt with purpose. “Take off your clothes,” he says, and Newton does what he’s told like the good boy he can be when he wants. 

They haven’t drifted again, and the residual effects of ghost drifting are gone, too, but he looks into Hermann’s eyes and knows _exactly_ what’s in the box. 

* 

They’re naked, and he’s sitting on Hermann’s lap, Hermann’s hands stroking Newt’s thighs. The toy sits beside them on the bed, and it’s so different from all the ones he has that Newt just has to ask. 

“Where did you get it?” 

Hermann snorts, “I had it custom-made, of course. Believe me when I say there’s _nothing_ like this on the market.” He leans in to kiss Newt’s adam’s apple, tracing the contours of Tentalus with his tongue. “It’s one of a kind, like you.” 

Newt stares at the slender tip that flares out at the base, the suction cups that punctuate the length of the shaft and the densely ribbed upper half, the three spiked tips, each one a different length, and the only word he can think of is ‘beautiful’.   

“How did you know I-” 

Hermann tuts, tapping his finger against Newt’s temple, “I was inside here, remember?” he murmurs, delving his hand into Newt’s hair and scratching his scalp just this side of painful. Newton moans, grinding his hips down and biting on his lip. 

“Keep your hands on the bed frame,” he says. Newt complies, and Hermann leans up to bite his neck, kiss it open-mouthed and wet. “You want it?” his teeth gently scrape Newt’s jawline, “Inside of you?” 

He swallows, breath picking up. 

This level of intimacy is something new, and it scares him. Hermann has seen things of him Newt doesn’t even allow himself to _think_ about, but when all is said and done - after they’re done tearing each other’s work apart, after they’re done spouting vitriol - Hermann is still the only person who knows him inside out, and he’s still here, so Newt will take what he can, one of Hermann’s hands lazily stroking him and the other one teasing his opening, tongue tracing the outline of the waves on his collarbone. 

He’ll take the intimacy of nodding his reply into Hermann’s hairline, the familiarity of Hermann’s mouth twisting up in a smile that turns into a kiss pressed on his shoulder. 

Hermann fucks him with his fingers, and then with the toy. He sucks bruises on every inch of Newt’s neck that’s not covered in ink, nips at the edge of his tattoos, murmurs endearments in the slope of his collarbone, tells him how good he is, how good he looks with the toy stretching him open, how good he sounds, how good he tastes. 

Newt keeps his hands on the headboard, even when they start shaking, even when Hermann discards the toy and slips three of his fingers inside him again, slow, crooks them to stroke his prostate, biting his shoulder until all Newt can do is muffle a groan against Hermann’s neck and come. 

Only then, Hermann replaces his fingers with his cock, and tells him to ride him, nice and slow, and not to make him come too soon. His hands tangle in the disorganized chaos of Newt’s hair, and he holds on. 

Newt looks him in the eye the whole time. 

* 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, Hermann’s back pressed against his chest, his arm draped over Hermann’s waist. Their legs are intertwined, and Hermann’s hand is resting on his thigh. _We’re spooning_ , Newt realizes. 

He closes his eyes and lets the rhythmic rise and fall of Hermann’s chest lull him back to sleep. 

* 

The following day, when he gets to the lab, Hermann is cleaning his chalkboards. Hazmat tape still divides the labs into two, and the room is littered with half packed boxes of equipment and books. 

Newt crosses the yellow line on the floor and touches his hand to the small of Hermann’s back. Hermann leans into it. 

They leave for Sydney the following day.


End file.
